A Criminal Mind
by delenaislifexoxo
Summary: An short oneshot internal monologue from Damon's point of view, following Alaric's death, as it brings some suppressed emotions to the surface. Rated M for some language.


**Hello beautiful people! This is a little different that what I've written in the past, but this idea came to me and I thought of a song that I thought had lyrics that related quite well to Damon. It's called "A Criminal Mind" and it's by Gowan. Check it out sometime if you'd like. :) Also, I realize that Damon is there to witness Alaric's transition when Bonnie shows up, but this is just Damon mourning the Alaric he knew, the one who was his friend. So, I'm sorry if this type of story isn't to your liking. But if it is, feel free to review and tell me what you think! Thanks! xoxo**

* * *

_A criminal mind is all I've_

_All I've ever known_

_Don't try to reform me_

'_Cause I'm made of cold stone_

_-Gowan_

* * *

Damon slammed the front door to his house behind him, not bothering the lock it. It's not like he ever did. He gave a glance to his liquor cabinet, but for the first time he didn't have the urge to go over and pour himself a glass of anything. Instead he headed straight for the stairs, more exhausted that he'd ever been.

He shut the lights and crawled under his expensive silk sheets. He rolled over, determined to sleep. Only, he couldn't. The memories of Alaric's lifeless body lying in the tomb wouldn't leave his memory. Every time he closed his eyes the images returned, seemingly embedded on the insides of his eyelids.

Damon opened his eyes again and picked up the pillow to his left. He held it over his mouth, and screamed into it. It seemed like such a silly thing to do, but he needed to let his ager out. He yelled into the pillow until something tickled his tongue and he realized he'd bitten into it and torn a huge hole. He was surrounded by dancing feathers, but he didn't pay them any attention as they drifted lightly, landing all over his huge room.

He leaned his head back against the wooden headboard of his bed, hitting it hard and probably denting it, but not caring, and let the tears he'd been holding in escape. He was alone and in the dark, where nobody could see. Not Elena, not Stefan, not anyone. Damon cried like he hadn't done in decades. He was so tired. Tired of being the "bad guy," tired of being hated, tired of always being compared to Stefan, but most of all, tired of being lonely. Alaric's death had succeeded in reminding him of that.

He was the bad guy because nobody else was up for it. Someone needed to get things done, which often meant doing shit that wasn't pleasant. He was bad with a purpose, but they didn't care. They saw him as a menace, someone who did bad things for the hell of it.

He was hated and talked about by everyone behind his back. They would never say anything to his face, though. Too scared his incontrollable temper would overcome him and they'd end the day impaled with something pointy and sharp. They didn't see the pain inside that controlled him. Not that he wanted them to. He didn't need their pity. Pity would be worse than hate.

The worst part was constantly being compared to his "perfect" younger brother. "Why can't you be more like Stefan?" The words everyone implied, but nobody dared say. Everyone preferred his brother to him. Their father, Caroline, Matt, Bonnie, everyone; but most of all: Elena. And that was the worst part. Knowing he'd done it again, knowing he'd messed up and fallen for the wrong girl and wanting the only thing he couldn't have.

And so he was alone. Nobody loved him and nobody could care less about what he felt inside. His armour was strong, but not strong enough to hide him from the cold, hard truth of life. He spent a hundred and fifty years searching for a girl who didn't even love him. He threw away everything he had; sure it would be worth it when he found her. But when he did, what did he come to know? That she'd _never love him. _That it was _always Stefan. _And now history was repeating itself. He'd let himself fall, but it was still _always Stefan. _And it would always be Stefan. So where did that leave Damon? His only friend had just died, and somehow drinking it all away didn't seem like an option at the moment. He'd let the crack in his armour get too big, and now he was fucked.

He was strong, but not strong enough. Not strong enough to show them that somewhere underneath it all, there was good in him. Not strong enough to let them see that he needed them more than they could ever imagine. He was trapped in the suit of metal he'd built himself, caged within his own deceit.

After so many years, the feelings were too much. He couldn't do it. Ric's death was the catalyst for his demise, and the waterfall of emotions he'd been suppressing for way to long had just broken though the dam that was holding it all back.

He welcomed the stony coolness of humanity slipping away, like he was shrugging off an old coat. Everything gently slid away, leaving nothing but a clear conscience and an appetite for warm blood, straight from the vein.

Damon was strong.

But not strong enough.

* * *

_A criminal mind is all I've,_

_All I've ever had,_

_Ask one who's known me,_

_If I'm really so bad..._

_I AM._

_-Gowan_


End file.
